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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26393185">Innocence Lost</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst'>winter_angst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Innocence [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, Horses, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Teaching, Wealth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:06:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,379</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26393185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack teaches Brock to ride, and some life lessons as well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Innocence [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Innocence Lost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts">Kalika999 (kalika_999)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy birthday to my rock, I really hope you like this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brock spent his summers with his nonna at the Rumlow Manor on Long Island. Stretching acres surrounded it, a common location for Country Club parties. But Brock wasn’t there to play the part of nonna’s oh-so-handsome grandson (although he certainly was, there was no dispute about that). He didn’t care much for croquette and he could only spend some time in the indoor pool and hot tub. His interest was in the stables recently renovated by nonna at his request to have a horse of his own. Brock saw them on television, majestic beasts with a rider who looked just as majestic attop of them. Nonna never told him no, never spared a single expense because she felt bad he spent so much time alone back home. Brock was well used to being alone in the big condo back home in Manhattan because his father spent all his time on Wall Street. It never felt right to complain, not when his every need was catered to by Lisa who may have been referred to as his nanny but definitely wasn’t because he was sixteen years old and sure as hell didn’t need a nanny. But she was a nice woman and Brock didn’t want to put her off what was probably the best paying job in the city. So he let her think she was telling him to do his homework and get ready for school and all that jazz. Brock was doing those things of his own free will, not because she said so. </p>
<p>The stables were traditional, he was told over breakfast. And a riding instructor was on property and would work with him whenever requested. Nonna was very firm about her staff being available to Brock. He tried to be respectful but sometimes he really needed Fresca at 3am and the housemaid never seemed to mind, always intent on fixing him a snack as well. She assured him that the instructor, Jack, came very highly recommended by her Club connections. He would remain on the property the entire summer. </p>
<p>Brock woke up to a polite knock to his door from the day house attendant, who presented him with a large parcel. </p>
<p>“What is it?”  </p>
<p>“Your nonna requested you find out yourself, she knew you would ask.” he said.</p>
<p>Brock rolled his eyes and turned away. The attendant took it as his dismissal and closed the door behind him. Brock would have preferred to get more sleep and considered setting the package on the chaise lounge. He took a shower, brushed his teeth and did his hair before stepping out of the en-suite. The housemaid had already been through, his bed made back up and a little wrapped truffle his nonna knew he loved rested on the pillow. Brock set it aside for later and took the gift to the bed to open it. Lying on top of gray tissue paper was a piece of oak tag that listed the names of the clothing and was signed by a Jack R. Brock thought it was a bit rude not to include a last name but he put it aside in favor of picking through the clothing. </p>
<p>On top there was a Ralph Lauren polo, one had a million and half of and he sighed in annoyance, casting it aside. He really hoped it wasn’t a box of repeats because this Jack R. would know exactly how he felt about it. Brock’s nonna always said that holding your tongue just led to more dissatisfaction for all parties so it's best to tell people, especially employees, what they did wrong so they could correct it. He pulled out more tissue paper and there was a folded pair of Kerrits jodhpurs full seat riding pants, dark tan, with a snaffle belt coiled on top. Brock was not a fashionista but he knew what was ugly and the chunky leather belt absolutely was.  He pulled off the final layer and found white socks laying over black leather boots made by some company called TuffRider. Brock picked up the note and looked at the slanted handwriting, cursive neat and practiced. His nonna said that handwriting was the biggest tell of a person and this handwriting told him that Jack R. was well composed. </p>
<p>Brock checked the time and went down for breakfast. It was a bit late and there was no guarantee that his nonna would be there. She wasn’t but the housemaid was, long red hair pinned, arms folded in front of her. Brock settled and she went to the kitchen and returned with a bowl of fresh cut cantaloupe, freshly squeezed orange juice and an egg cup. Brock thought about going to the stables as he tapped the boiled egg with the egg spoon, sending a jagged maze of crackles through the shell. The dining room was built for group meals so sitting alone at the end made Brock feel a bit small and alone. Even with the housemaid (he was fairly certain she was Sandra. There was another redhead named Wendy but he didn’t think this was her) he felt alone. It was almost a relief to finish and stand up as the housemaid took away the dishes.</p>
<p>He headed for the door. It was still cool outside and the smell of the morning dew clung to the air. Brock was eager to see his horse, cellphone ready for an Instagram picture that would definitely get plenty of likes. He could see the building in the distance a big gaudy fence was in front of it and fencing set up behind it so the horses could graze. Brock wasn’t completely clueless about horses, he had Googled it before asking for one. His nonna had said she found something very, very special for him so Brock could only imagine what it was. The brick stables had kept it’s bones, the outside of it looking spruced up but also rustic. Brock thought it looked nice. </p>
<p>As he got closer he saw Jack R. </p>
<p>He was an older man, hefting a bale of hay on his shoulder. He was tall, muscular, with black hair and he looked good in worn jeans. Jack R. looked at him and then kept on working. Brock scoffed slightly in offense. He was paid to answer to his beck and call, to wait on Brock. Clearly he didn’t understand how working on the Rumlow Manor worked. Brock walked over, chin high. </p>
<p>“Excuse me, you didn’t greet me.” </p>
<p>Jack set it down with the four others by the door. “No,” the man had a southern accent. “I didn’t. You’re Brock right?” </p>
<p>“Of course I am.” </p>
<p>Jack finally looked at him. He had very good bone structure and green eyes. There was a curious scar on his face but Brock wasn’t in the mood to admire his good looks or to ask about the scar. “Well, Brock, I’m Jack. Can I help you with something?” </p>
<p>He didn’t sound the slightest bit eager to do and that was salt in the wound. “You’re very rude, Jack.”</p>
<p>Jack raised his brows and very clearly fought a smile. Brock’s hands curled into fists. “You wouldn’t be laughing if I told my nonna how you are treating her only grandson.” </p>
<p>“Ah, so you’re one of those,” Jack sighed. “Alright, alright, princess. You have my complete attention.” </p>
<p>Brock was practically sputtering; he was so enraged. People didn’t talk to him this way. What made Jack think this was acceptable? “I can have you fired.” </p>
<p>“You could,” Jack agreed. “But I highly doubt you’ll find a better instructor.” </p>
<p>“And why is that?” </p>
<p>“Do you know what the Kentucky Derby is? I trained the winner.”</p>
<p>“Of course I know what it is,” Brock snipped but his interest was piqued. “That is very impressive. If only you had a better attitude.” </p>
<p>“I don’t coddle, I teach.” Jack turned his back to him. “I suspect you want to see the horse your nonna bought you? Against my advice of course.” </p>
<p>“I would.” </p>
<p>Brock followed him into the stable. There were three of them. One was massive and dark as night. The one in the center had a creamy coat and a dappled hindquarter. The horses tossed their heads as they passed and Brock looked down at a yellow horse with shiny fur. </p>
<p>“Wow,” Brock forgot he was mad at Jack. “I’ve never seen a horse like that before.” </p>
<p>Jack laughed bitterly. “You and me both. This is the most purebred horse in the world. An Akhal-Teke. And it belongs to a little brat like you.” </p>
<p>“I’m not a brat.” Brock snapped. “I didn’t ask for this horse. Besides, it sounds like you’re just jealous.” </p>
<p>“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. You’re not going to be riding him, not yet.” </p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>“Because this type of horse is a one-rider. It bonds with their rider and I don’t want him bonding with you until you can handle him properly. So we’ll start with Cashew.” </p>
<p>Brock’s face fell and Jack, back to him said, “I can tell you’re pouting right now. Cut it out. You’re not getting onto any of these horses until you’re wearing your riding clothes either.” </p>
<p>Brock opened his mouth to remind him that his nonna wouldn’t tolerate him bossing him around but he paused. There was no question that should his nonna find out she would banish him from the property. But Brock did like to have the best of the best and it seemed that Jack was the best there was. So he went back to the house and got dressed.</p>
<p>He felt ridiculous and the boots were squeaky. He knew the pants were meant to be tight but seeing them on made him blush. </p>
<p>Jack had taken the creamy colored horse into the circular pen and he was holding the halter. </p>
<p>“You know I have a million of these,” Brock said, gesturing to the polo. </p>
<p>“Good to know. Get over here.” </p>
<p>Brock scowled but he approached. “Climb in.” </p>
<p>“Climb?” Brock looked at the metal. “This looks dirty.” </p>
<p>“Riding and caring for horses is a dirty job. So if that’s gonna be an issue -- ”</p>
<p>“It’s not. I was just saying.” Brock climbed over it, a bit awkwardly, but he didn’t fall. </p>
<p>“This is Cashew.” Jack said without even waiting for Brock to say he was ready. “He’s an Appaloosa I borrowed from a friend when I realized what your nonna thought would be a good starter.” </p>
<p>“She only wants what’s best for me,” Brock snapped. </p>
<p>“Either way, let's get the two of you acquainted. Come touch her.”</p>
<p>Brock had been so eager for this moment that the sudden apprehension he experienced confused him. This was what he had wanted for… For a long time. And now he kind of wished he was on the other side of the gate just observing. </p>
<p>“She won’t bite you,” Jack said, tone finally somewhat friendly. </p>
<p>“Okay.” Brock took it one step at a time, in awe of the massive creature. </p>
<p>Far too soon he was right in front of her. Her big brown eyes looked gentle. Slowly he reached forwards and placed his hand on her muzzle, fur soft and warm. She didn’t buck or back away. She allowed him to touch her head and her mane. </p>
<p>“See? She’s nice and easy. How about we try mounting?”</p>
<p>“So soon?”</p>
<p>“In my experience it’s best to jump right into it.” </p>
<p>Brock would never admit to being afraid so he nodded his head as if he had nothing at all to fear. </p>
<p>Jack put what he called a mounting block down and showed Brock how to properly straddle the horse. He slid down from the saddle far too soon and Brock gulped as he approached it. He didn’t consider himself short, he was of average height, but… The horse made him feel short. He got up on the block, slowly, carefully slipping his feet into the stirrups. He swung his body up and...right off. The stun of hitting the ground struck him dumb. He watched Jack’s boots approach. </p>
<p>“Get up kid.” </p>
<p>Brock’s anger flared and he pushed himself upwards. “You didn’t tell me I was going to fall off!”</p>
<p>Jack had the audacity to laugh. “I thought that would be obvious. It’s part of learning.” Jack held out a hand. “C’mon. I promise I’ll try and catch you next time.” </p>
<p>Brock swallowed and then accepted the hand. </p>
<p>** ** ** **</p>
<p>Brock ended his lessons with Jack around five, a long day of trying to get mounting down. Once he stopped falling off using the mounting block, Jack took it away and he learned how without one which was hard because the horse was stupidly tall. Jack suggested it wasn’t because he was short but Brock immediately corrected him. Jack had smiled but hadn’t argued so Brock thought that maybe he was finally understanding that Brock was to be respected, not belittled. </p>
<p>Brock tried to soothe any bruising from the falls in the hot tub. He researched Aklah-Teke’s and made a point to send an email of thanks to his nonna who was at a gala this evening. Brock had a lonely dinner of foie gras. When he was finished roamed the massive home, ending up in the library where he stayed, looking up more about riding horses. He wanted to impress Jack. No, not impress. Brock Rumlow didn’t need to impress anyone, they knew by his last name he was impressive. He wanted to show up Jack, remind him that he could do it all by himself if need be, that Jack was lucky to have the chance to teach him. </p>
<p>He fell asleep there, awoken by the housemaid apologetically. “I’m sorry to wake you, I just wondered if you’d be more comfortable in bed.” </p>
<p>Brock grunted and pushed to his feet. He flopped into his bed and was back asleep before his head hit the pillow. </p>
<p>Over breakfast the next morning his nonna filled him in on the local drama and on who had dressed horrendously. Brock brought up the lessons and again, how thankful he was to have such a beautiful horse. She waved away the thank yous and asked about the lessons. Brock weighed it for a moment before saying, “They’re difficult but I think Jack knows what he’s doing.” </p>
<p>“Oh yes, Mr. Rollins is an exceptional I hear. Only the best for you, dear.” </p>
<p>Brock went out to the stables to find them empty. Confused he went into the stalls and hovered by his still nameless horse. Brock felt bold enough to reach out and touch his nose. The skin was velvety and his brown eyes were bright and intelligent. </p>
<p>“Glutton for punishment huh.” </p>
<p>Brock jumped at the sudden voice, spinning to see Jack standing in the doorway, hair still wet from his shower. </p>
<p>“Didn’t mean to spook you.” He approached him. “He’s a real beauty.” </p>
<p>“Yeah. Do you think I can ride him soon?”</p>
<p>“Depends on how lessons go.” </p>
<p>They spent most of the day familiarizing Brock with the tact and Brock knowing some of it took Jack by surprise and he rewarded Brock with a smile. They stopped for lunch and Brock knew his nonna was gone so he asked, “Do you want to come up and eat?”</p>
<p>Jack laughed. “Well, I’m not allowed to say no to you so I can agree guilt free. What do you fancy people eat anyway?”</p>
<p>“Aren’t you fancy too?” Brock shot back.</p>
<p>“I have money but I don’t feel the need for all this,” Jack gestured wildly. “You didn’t answer my question.” </p>
<p>Brock felt like he had lost something when he admitted, “Filet mignon or maybe medallions. One of them.”</p>
<p>“Do they serve drinks?” </p>
<p>“Of course.” </p>
<p>It was nice to have someone else at the stretching table but the housemaid looked surprised. “Hello,” she greeted. “I’m sorry Brock, lunch will be just a moment longer than expected while we prepare food for your….guest.” </p>
<p>“Okay. He wants a drink.” </p>
<p>“Of course, what can I get you?”</p>
<p>“Something strong, seeing as I’m dealing with him.” </p>
<p>The housemaid looked startled, shot a look towards Brock and then offered an awkward laugh as she went to the kitchen. </p>
<p>“Oof tough crowd.” Jack looked at Brock. “So this is how you grew up huh?”</p>
<p>“I’m on here during the summer.” Brock debated how much to say to him. “It gets...lonely at home. It’s just me and my nan...housemaid.” </p>
<p>Jack shook his head, expression unreadable. “No parents?”</p>
<p>“My mom died having me and my dad works on Wall Street so… I mean, I’m luckier that any other kid.” Brock waved his hand to the room. “Who can say they have all this?” </p>
<p>“I guess so.” </p>
<p>The housemaid came back with what smelled like whiskey and not long after they were served filet mignon with purple carrots and homemade yeast roll. Lunch was quiet but Brock didn’t mind. It just felt nice to be around someone. They went back outside and Jack set Brock to work on learning how to dress a horse properly. And when he had that down, Jack taught him how to halter and lead. They ended the day by leading the horses to the pasture. Brock hanging around his horse, still stumped on a name. </p>
<p>Brock and Jack hung out at the post watching them. “What’s the deal with the big one?”</p>
<p>“That is Mister. He’s mine.” </p>
<p>The horse looked nothing like the others. He was massive and didn’t look very fast.  “Yours? I thought you worked with race horses.” </p>
<p>“I do. He’s a Russian Heavy Draft.” </p>
<p>“He’s a good looking horse.” </p>
<p>Jack smiled down at him. “Yeah, yeah he is.” </p>
<p>** ** ** **</p>
<p>Brock wasn’t sure when he started to like Jack. Somewhere around the time Jack put his hands around his waist to show him how he needed to raise his butt with the momentum. Thankfully the pants were so tight it hid his boner well. It felt like he was back in eight grade when every little thing made him horny but this...Jack… He was different and Brock had no idea what to make of it. </p>
<p>He’d known he was gay when he was a freshman in high school and he’d had a handful of ‘boyfriends’ but… But Jack had to be in his late thirties, early forties and Brock, well, wasn’t. He had no idea how Jack would respond if he realized so he tried to focus on the horses. </p>
<p>“You’ll be riding your horse Friday at this rate.” Jack said as Brock pulled Cashew to a stop. </p>
<p>It had been almost three weeks of training and he had his seal of approval. Brock was beyond proud. He wasn’t sure who was working so hard for -- himself or Jack? </p>
<p>Wednesday went quickly, Brock worked up to canter gait. His beat timing was good, Jack said, but it needed to get better before they moved up to the gallop. Once Brock had a gallop controlled they would move to Brock’s horse who he had still yet to name. Brock liked working with Jack even though his teaching style, and general attitude towards Brock, was new. His entire life he had been coddled and taken care of, there was something freeing about being around Jack who refused to treat him like the other staff did. Lunches together became a tradition and good time for Brock to know more about Jack and his travels across the world working with jockeys. He ran an elusive stable for big name horses and one of the stalls was going to belong to  Brock’s horse. </p>
<p>“You need to think of a name,” Jack reminded him for the umpteenth time. </p>
<p>“I know.” Brock was grooming Cashew, another must know skill in having a horse. “I just… I don’t want to pick a dumb name, y’know?” </p>
<p>“No name is dumb if it has meaning.” Jack nodded his approval and Brock led Cashew to the pasture where the other horses were. “Trust me, I get plenty of horses with names that mean nothing to the owner.” </p>
<p>“I guess I was thinking, since he’s such a big name horse I'd call him Chopin. But maybe that’s weird.” </p>
<p>“It has an elegance to it.” Jack put his hands on his hips and looked out to where the horse stood grazing, coat shimmering brilliantly in the late afternoon sun. “I think he’s definitely a Chopin.” </p>
<p>Brock grinned, Jack’s approval making all the difference. “Thanks Jack.” </p>
<p>“I’m just being honest, kid.” </p>
<p>** ** ** **</p>
<p>They didn’t usually have lessons on Saturdays but Brock woke up, hellbent on finally, finally being able to saddle up and get acclimated to his very own horse. He got dressed and practically ran over. The stables were empty however though the horses already had their feed and their troughs were full. Brock paused to give each horse a pat, lingering at Chopin before he went to the carriage house which had been redone at the same time as the stables so it could house Brock’s instructor. Brock wasn’t sure why he went around the side of the house but next thing he knew he was staring through the bathroom window at the perfect angle to see Jack showering. He was facing the water spray, arms up, pushing his hair back. Water streamed down his side, along his toned stomach and then down his dick, flaccid but thick. His thighs were muscular as well but Brock was able to admire those in his jeans anytime. Naked skin was the treat here. That and his cock. Brock dragged his eyes back up for another full body check out but his eyes met Jack and Brock gasped, dropping to his hands and knees. </p>
<p>His heart was racing and his dick hard and Jack had just caught him watching him shower! If he told his nonna… No, he’d deny it. God, what if told? Brock was beginning to hyperventilate as his anxiety skyrocketed. He knew he wasn’t straight, had known it for years now but he wasn’t ready for his family to know. And he definitely wasn’t ready for his riding instructor to know. He ran back to the house and hid there the rest of the day. He tried to swim to curb the nervous energy and he tried to relax it out with a stint in the hot tub. Neither worked. He retreated to the library where he hoped to remain undisturbed. </p>
<p>“I was wondering where you got to.”</p>
<p>Brock yelped, dropping the first edition Call of the Wild as he looked fearfully at Jack. He was dressed now, obviously, and was admiring the ceiling high shelves. He tapped his finger on the rolling ladder. </p>
<p>“I’ve only seen one of these in movies. Shoulda known you’d have one.” </p>
<p>“It belongs to my nonna not me.” Brock replied. </p>
<p>Was Jack going to ignore what happened? Just like that? </p>
<p>“Well, it’s getting a little late but we’ve got a few hours of daylight left if you’re interested in getting on Chopin.” </p>
<p>Brock smiled hesitantly. “Really?”</p>
<p>“Do I ever lie to you? Let’s go kid.” </p>
<p>Brock got up, putting the book back on the chair so he didn’t have to bother with tracking it down again, and ran upstairs to get dressed. Maybe Jack hadn’t seen him? Brock had hid quickly, Jack probably just glimpsed his hair and shrugged it off. Surely if he had seen him he would have addressed it. Jack wasn’t one for holding his tongue after all. He gladly told Brock what he thought every day. So this… This would have been the top discussion. Instead he was reminding Brock about all things he’d learned and reminding him that his horse was special and to move with him at first. </p>
<p>Brock took a deep breath, clearing his mind from that morning, and swung his body up onto the saddle. They were still penned in, ‘until you get your bearings’ Jack said and Brock was okay with that. Chopin began to amble, a slow easy gait as he adjusted to Brock. </p>
<p>“Heels down,” Jack called and Brock hastened to obey. </p>
<p>They worked up to a trot and then a canter before dusk was falling. Brock slid down, a bit disappointed though it was his fault they had waited so late. “You looked good up there. Like you belonged.” </p>
<p>Brock smiled, the mortifying moment almost forgotten. </p>
<p>“I’ll bring in the others while you get him ready to be stalled up for the night.” Jack said as he turned towards the pasture. </p>
<p>Brock led Chopin into the stables and began to remove all the tact before he brushed his coat. He never thought he’d get tired of looking at it. Jack came in and Brock quickly stalled him so he could make space. After the stables were closed up for the night Brock lingered for a moment, wondering if Jack had any remarks. </p>
<p>“You did good today, kid. I’m proud of you.”</p>
<p>Jack clapped him on the back and gave him a warm squeeze of the shoulder before his hand rested on his back. The warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric and Brock found himself leaning into it a bit before Jack removed it. “How about we pick this up on Monday? Unless you wanted to go on Sunday.” </p>
<p>Brock really did but there was the Sunday luncheon at the club and Brock was supposed to attend. “I have a thing.” Brock said somewhat lamely. </p>
<p>“Things do happen,” Jack agreed. “I’ll see you Monday, okay?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, okay.” </p>
<p>** ** ** ** </p>
<p>The luncheon was exactly as expected and Brock wasn’t sure if it was him maturing or if Jack’s pessimism had rubbed off. It wasn’t a gathering of friends, it was a gathering of wealthy people competing. They act impressed at the news given on who had just bought what or who now owned this or that. Brock wasn’t surprised at his nonna boasting that she had bought her grandson an Akhal-Teke and none other than the man who coached the winning jockey at the Derby ‘with a 3 million dollar purse, might I add’. The smiles she got were all forced, eyes envious and just a little hateful. </p>
<p>Maybe Jack had a point. </p>
<p>In the towncar Brock posed the question, “Do you ever think about… About how normal people are?” </p>
<p>Nonna paused touching up her foundation with a rich laugh that seemed just a little condescending. “Oh Brock.” She snapped her compact shut and turned her hazel eyes to him. “There are two people in the world. The haves and the have nots. Why do you think we hold so many fundraisers? So we can help those who are without. So don’t worry your mind about it.” </p>
<p>Brock wasn’t reassured. He knew that the wealth around him would be left to him one day and it wasn’t something he usually thought about. When he got back to the estate he couldn’t sleep so he went back to his book. He looked at it. It was well preserved, free of any writing or tattered pages, save for the inside page being signed by Jack London. It had been his second favorite book for ages, it came in a set with White Fang, both signed. He never considered its worth, it was just something on the shelf that his Nonna said to be gentle with. </p>
<p>Brock sighed quietly, discontent. He put the book back in its place and wandered the corridors, counting all the empty rooms until he ran into one of the housemaids. She looked different in sweatpants and a paint splattered pink tee. She also was on her cellphone which Brock could never remember a housemaid having. His nonna was strict about those things. “Oh, Brock. I’m so sorry.” </p>
<p>It wasn’t the one from earlier and Brock realized that they knew his name but he didn’t know theirs. “What’s your name?” </p>
<p>The housemaid’s face fell. “I’m Wendy. I… I know I’m not supposed to be out of my room out of uniform I just…” </p>
<p>“You’re not in trouble.” Brock was confused. “I just wondered.” </p>
<p>“Oh.” she laughed nervously. “Can I get you something?”</p>
<p>“No. Well… Maybe a drink?”</p>
<p>“Right away. Let me dress. Where should I serve you?” </p>
<p>“The dining room please.” </p>
<p>“Right away.” </p>
<p>Brock wandered back down, feeling more and more unsure with each step. He was lucky, he should be happy -- he wasn’t unhappy -- but something felt off. Like a beautiful photo being pulled back to ugliness beneath it. Brock didn’t like it. He accepted his Fresca and sipped on it while he stared idly at the end of the stretching table. </p>
<p>** ** ** **</p>
<p>“Do you hate rich people?” </p>
<p>Jack laughed a bit, painting hoof oil on his horse’s hooves. “That’s one hell of a question kid, considering who hired me.” </p>
<p>“You had to have gotten a good cut out of the purse.” Brock was proud of himself for learning a bit of lingo. </p>
<p>Jack looked up at him. “You’re absolutely right, I did.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you’re rich, how can you hate rich people?”</p>
<p>“I thought your question was if I hated rich people. Pick one.” </p>
<p>Brock huffed, pausing his mucking. “Okay, do you hate rich people?” </p>
<p>“No but I don’t like them.” </p>
<p>“Same difference!”</p>
<p>“Is that informal speech I’m hearing?” </p>
<p>“Seriously Jack.” </p>
<p>“What’s the big deal anyway?” Jack sat up giving him his full attention. </p>
<p>“I… I don’t know.” Brock said lamely. “I just… I don’t know.” </p>
<p>“Well, when you know, feel free to tell me. Until then, get back to work.” </p>
<p>Annoyed with himself, Brock did so. The day was going as usually did until Jack dumped water down his front and he peeled the tee off so he could get a new one. His exposed torso, glistening with water, was a sight. Brock had tried hard to put that morning out of his mind so he didn’t act like a complete idiot in front of Jack but here he was, staring, as the front of his jodhpurs got tight. Jack whistled and Brock tore his eyes off of his tanned midsection to his green eyes. He was grinning though it was all teeth and more coy than anything else. </p>
<p>“Need to take care of that?”</p>
<p>He gestured to Brock’s crotch with his shirt and Brock’s face burned in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.” he wheezed. “I don’t know… I don’t know how...w-why I would…” </p>
<p>“Don’t apologize. If you need a helping hand, c’mon. If not, deal with it yourself.” </p>
<p>Brock sputtered at the invitation. He knew he should be running in the opposite direction but he didn’t want to. He wanted to follow Jack back to the carriage house. So he did. He was a bundle of nerves as he stood in the foyer. It was sparsely decorated, modern chic his nonna had said. It was different from the main house so it gave plenty to look at while Jack put away the horses. He sat down, tentatively on the square ottoman beneath coat hanging pegs. His dick was still hard and Brock knew what he was doing was big. It was his first real sexual interaction save for messy fondling in middle school when he thought he was interested in women.</p>
<p>But this was more than that. This was with Jack. </p>
<p>The door opened and Brock leapt up, nervous as all hell. Jack looked him up and down. “If you’re in any way unsure of this, go. It won’t change anything.” </p>
<p>“I’m sure.” Brock’s voice stayed steady much to his surprise.</p>
<p>Jack gave him another head to toe look and then nodded. “C’mon.” </p>
<p>The carriage house was tiny, single handedly the smallest house he’d ever seen in his life but, he thought, he’d only ever seen the best in life. The bedroom still boasted a queen sized bed, a bit small, but big enough for what they were doing. Assuming it was just a handjob. </p>
<p>“I take it you’ve never done this before.” </p>
<p>Brock swallowed dryly. “I have,” he lied.</p>
<p>Jack fisted his hair and gave it a small tug. “Don’t lie to me.” </p>
<p>“I… Okay, maybe not but I know how it works.” </p>
<p>“So how does it work?” Jack challenged. “Show me.” </p>
<p>Brock licked his lips as Jack splayed himself on the bed, shirtless but his jeans still on. He could see the outline of his cock and he knew he was far bigger than his which made him a bit self conscious. Biting his lip he approached from the end of the bed, kneeling between his thighs. He fiddled with his fingers for a moment and Jack just observed, hands folded behind his head. Brock reached for the button on his jeans and flicked a look upwards at Jack for confirmation that he was doing the right thing. Jack’s just raised his brows. </p>
<p>“If you don’t know this works just let me know, kid.” </p>
<p>Brock huffed, popping the button. He took the zipper tab between his index and thumb, feeling the hard edges against the pad of his thumbs. He already knew he wanted to commit this moment to memory. He dragged it down, listening to the purr of the zipper teeth. </p>
<p>“I thought you didn’t see the point in fancy things.” Brock said as he caught sight of the white Kalvin Kleins. </p>
<p>“There’s a difference between nice clothing and fucking mansion.” </p>
<p>“It’s actually a manor,” Brock shot back but in retrospect, it wasn’t the best comeback. </p>
<p>Jack just laughed and Brock wasn’t sure if he was being laughed at or if he genuinely thought Brock was funny. Brock tugged at the pants, with absolutely no help from Jack who seemed content to sit and watch him suffer. Brock huffed out a breath and shot an annoyed look up at Jack who grinned. </p>
<p>“Need some help, cupcake?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, take off your own pants.” Brock huffed. </p>
<p>“Oh, bratty in bed too, I see.” Jack shifted and pulled off his jeans and under with ease. </p>
<p>Any argument Brock had vanished when he caught sight of his dick. It was long and thick and only at the half mast as far as he could tell. Brock’s mouth dried and he said, “Oh.” </p>
<p>“Don’t worry, I’m not planning on putting it inside you...yet.” </p>
<p>“Yet?” </p>
<p>“Do you want to ride it one day?” Jack asked.</p>
<p>“I… I don’t think I could.” </p>
<p>“I am a riding instructor, I’ll show you the ropes.” </p>
<p>Brock snorted and then looked warily at the monster resting on the bed like a poison viper. Or, rather, python. “Scared?” Jack didn’t sound teasing this time and Brock was grateful for that. “We don’t have to do this, Brock. Nothing will change.” </p>
<p>“I want to.” Brock said affirmatively. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.” </p>
<p>“I know you don’t. I just wanted to see how long you’d hold out before admitting it.” Jack sat up, beckoning Brock closer. “Arms up.” </p>
<p>Brock obeyed and Jack peeled the polo off. Jack ran his hand over his exposed skin, across his chest, down towards the waistband of his jodhpurs before going back up. Jack’s hands were rough, hands that knew hard labor. Brock never thought that being touched in such casual areas would turn him on so much but he was aching to touch Jack back. </p>
<p>He read the question in Brock’s eyes and before he formally asked Jack said, “Touch me wherever you want.”</p>
<p>Brock made a soft noise in response and though he was embarrassed about it he continued on his mission and reached out, pressing both palms to his chest. He was taken back to the first time he touched a horse and almost laughed. Jack’s hands settled on Brock’s hip as Brock ran his hands over Jack’s skin, wrapping his fingers around his toned biceps, feeling every part of him so he wouldn’t forget. </p>
<p>“Are you ready to take this off?” Jack asked giving the waistband a small tug,</p>
<p>Brock couldn’t nod fast enough. When they were both naked it heightened the sexual tension between them. Jack looked him up and down and Brock practically preened. Jack looked at his erection and then at Brock with hooded eyes. </p>
<p>“Jerk off for me.”</p>
<p>Brock was certain he heard him wrong. “What?”</p>
<p>Jack wrapped his hand around his own cock and started a slow, steady pace. “Jerk off for me. Don’t tell me you don’t know how.”</p>
<p>Brock blushed and, after a moment of trepidation, did so. He fell into Jack’s pace, lending into the rhythm establishing and Brock could feel his orgasm barreling towards him already. He slowed down, desperately trying to draw it out. Jack moaned softly, thumb rubbing the head of cock which was drooling precum. Brock would have tried to suck it like he saw in the porn he watched but with a cock that size, he knew better. </p>
<p>“Why’d you stop? Second thoughts?”</p>
<p>“No, I just…” Brock swallowed back his shame and said, “I don’t wanna cum too fast.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about that. I’m about to come too.”</p>
<p>Reassured Brock took his dick in hand and started back up, easily finding Jack’s rhythm. Jack’s free hand fell to stroke the inside of Brock thigh and that was all it took. The orgasm was almost violent leaving his ears ringing and his body boneless as cum splattered his chest. It was like he was floating above his body as he watched Jack seize up, thighs taunt, head tipped back and ribbons of semen fell over his front.</p>
<p>Brock came back to his body and heard Jack utter a laugh of disbelief. “Fuck kid,” he said. “I haven’t cum that hard in a long time.”</p>
<p>Brock’s chest puffed up with praise and Jack got up to grab a towel. He wiped himself off and then Brock. Jack caught Brock’s chin drawing his face up for a kiss. “Was...I did okay?”</p>
<p>“You were perfect, Brock.”</p>
<p>** ** ** **</p>
<p>That night Brock couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jack had touched him, how he looked when he came. He rubbed one out to the memory alone, wiping away the evidence with tissues. He sprawled on his back, panting, staring at the architectural crown molding that ran around his room. Brock wouldn’t have imagined such a thing happening at the beginning of summer but now… Now he was already dreading the end of their time together. </p>
<p>He had breakfast with his nonna and for some reason he felt guilty as she asked about his lessons. </p>
<p>“Good. I...I named my horse Chopin.” </p>
<p>“Chopin.” she smiled widely and looked at the housemaid, no, looked at Wendy. “You see that? My grandson is so cultured, isn’t he?” </p>
<p>“Yes Miss Rollins, very cultured.” </p>
<p>Brock wondered if Wendy could say differently or if she’d be fired. His mood dropped a bit as he tried to recover it with a forkful of his caviar and crouton souffle. Unsurprisingly it didn’t work. Brock couldn’t remember the last time he stepped a foot in any kitchen. But he didn’t want to look ungrateful, people would kill for what he had. </p>
<p>“Can I go to the stables nonna?” </p>
<p>“Look at him, so directed at such a young age, his nonno would be so proud.” </p>
<p>Brock smiled and walked to the end of the table to kiss her on the cheek before booking it towards the stables. He slowed halfway there suddenly unsure on how he wasn’t supposed to act. Not like some kid with a crush because Brock wasn’t practically an adult at this point and he needed to act like one. So, with the plan was not to mention it so he could remain mature and indifferent he walked over. His will wavered a bit as he caught sight of Jack hosing down Mister. He was shirtless, clearly trying to kill Brock, and waved through the droplets of moisture in the air. He looked ethereal and Brock couldn’t believe he’d actually been able to touch this man. </p>
<p>He cut off the hose and brought Mister out to the field. Mister immediately dropped down to roll around the dirt. Jack shook his head fondly before he turned his attention onto Brock. “You’re out here early.” </p>
<p>“Yeah.” A silence stretched and Brock said, “Can we try the trails yet? I think Chopin and I can do it.” </p>
<p>“You do huh?” Jack looked over to the horses. “Okay. If you think you’re ready. No crying if you end up on your ass.” </p>
<p>“I never cry,” Brock huffed.</p>
<p>“Of course you don’t.” </p>
<p>Brock led Chopin in from the field and Jack took Mister. Jack saddled up far quicker than Brock but Brock didn’t let that discourage him. He wanted to impress Jack, wanted to have another secret interaction in the carriage house. He wanted to know that yesterday hadn’t been a fluke that meant nothing. The trail had been beaten down manually by one of the gardeners and it was wide enough for Brock and Jack to walk side by side. Jack was situated up higher than him, the horse larger than Chopin. Brock didn’t mind though he kept glancing up wondering if Jack was looking at him. </p>
<p>“Alright kid, let’s hear it. You’ve been staring at me for the last ten minutes.” </p>
<p>“Hear it?” Brock almost squeaked. </p>
<p>“Let’s talk about yesterday. How are you feeling?” </p>
<p>“I… Good. I just… I don’t want to sound dumb,” Brock mumbled looking ahead. </p>
<p>Chopin’s ears flicked a bit as if he too shared Brock’s anxiety. </p>
<p>“You know what happens has to stay between us right? And that means that this… This can’t be public.” </p>
<p>“I know that.” Brock wasn’t some stupid kid. “I just… Are we going to do it again?”</p>
<p>Jack laughed, startling him. “That’s what you’re worried about?” </p>
<p>Brock rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose that’s it.” </p>
<p>“Don’t worry about that Brock. It’ll happen again. But not every day.” </p>
<p>Brock wished it could be but he understood why. A pattern would be obvious. Feeling reassured, Brock offered a race that Jack declined. “One, you’ll fall off and I’ll have to deal with your gram reaming my ass out for not protecting her precious grandson. Secondly, it’s too hot for running.” </p>
<p>Brock took that as Jack was too scared. “He just knows we’ll beat him,” Brock said, leaning forwards to pat his neck.</p>
<p>Chopin nickered in agreement. Jack rolled his eyes but didn’t take the bait. </p>
<p>** ** ** **</p>
<p>“My nonna says there’s two types of people.” </p>
<p>Jack grunted from beside him taking a swig from his water bottle. Brock was feeling a bit tuckered out, the last hour had been spent with Jack fingering him open, still refusing to even put the head of his cock in yet. Jack had gotten him off with a blowjob and Brock… Well, he tried and even now his jaw was still sore. Jack was a good sport and accepted a handjob. </p>
<p>“She would say that.” </p>
<p>“Hey.” </p>
<p>“No one said that’s a bad thing,” Jack said in an appeasing tone. “It’s just that rich people… It’s like a bubble you live in. You see everything through a lense and you don’t see the world the same way.” </p>
<p>“Do I see everything through a lense?”</p>
<p>“Of course you do. It’s not your fault, it’s not any of their faults, it’s just how they were brought up. But I think you’re smart enough to see around it.” Jack offered the bottle and Brock accepted it. “You’re a smart kid, Brock. One day you’ll do something great.” </p>
<p>“Maybe I’ll be a jockey,” Brock said, capping the bottle and setting to this left. He rested his head against Brock’s arm. “A famous one. You can train me.” </p>
<p>“You do have the body type for it,” Jack pinched his side and Brock jerked away with a laugh. “You can do whatever you want. Don’t fit yourself into a box already.”</p>
<p>“What if I want to be with you?” </p>
<p>Jack was quiet and Brock’s stomach sunk. He didn’t know why he had asked, why he had brought up something that was too serious for pillowtalk. “Brock, I… You and me… Our relationship isn’t something that we could be open about. For a long time.” </p>
<p>“Two years,” Brock protested. “That’s not a lot of time.” </p>
<p>“No, but in two years I’m going to be forty four years old. Forty year olds don’t belong with an eighteen year old. I can’t steal your life from you. You need to make stupid choices, binge drink and regret it the next day. Have one night stands and fall in love and experience a broken heart. Good, bad and ugly, it’s life and you need to live through it.” </p>
<p>Brock blinked back his tears. “I don’t want to do that. I want to be with you, Jack.” </p>
<p>“Brock.” </p>
<p>“I want to be with you.” He said stubbornly with a half aborted sob. “Y-you work for us so you have to do what I say.” </p>
<p>Jack reached over to brush away a tear that ran down his cheek but Brock shoved him away. “I love you,” he said, accusatory. “I love you and you don’t love me.” </p>
<p>Jack didn’t say a word and that was confirmation enough. Brock got dressed, angrily wiping away his tears. He slammed the door and practically ran to the house. Thankfully he didn’t run into Wendy and he locked his door, throwing himself onto his bed where he began to sob. </p>
<p>** ** ** **</p>
<p>For three days he stayed in the house, spending time between the theater to try and drown himself in TV, the pool to try and drown himself for real, and the library where he could drown himself in the world of Jack London. He didn’t care if they were first edition and signed, he didn’t care how expensive they were. He didn’t care.</p>
<p>But he still missed Jack. He missed Jack and it fucking hurt because he hadn’t torn his heart out. He wanted to hate him so badly but he couldn’t. </p>
<p>On his fourth day there was a knock at his door and Brock sighed, ready to let the housemaid in to tidy his room but when he opened the door he was staring at Jack’s chest. He was wearing a black tee and it wasn’t fair that he’d dress in a way he knew Brock couldn’t resist. Jack nudged him back and Brock obeyed instinctively. There was an urge to push him backwards and tell him to fuck off but he couldn’t quite do it. </p>
<p>“I get you’re mad at me,” Jack said when the door was shut. “But don’t you dare take it out on your horse.” </p>
<p>“I wanted to see him but I didn’t want to see you,” Brock hissed. </p>
<p>Jack rubbed his hand over his face. “This is my fault,” he said more to himself than Brock. “I should’ve known this would happen.” </p>
<p>“You used me,” Brock choked out and Jack shook his head. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry Brock. I really am. I should have never… Brock, I care about you. I really do. But I’m doing this for you.” </p>
<p>“If you were doing this for me you wouldn’t be doing this to me.” </p>
<p>“Brock you’ve got your whole fucking life ahead of you.” </p>
<p>“Yeah and I want you in it.” Brock snapped. “If you care about me at all you’d -- ”</p>
<p>Jack grabbed him, turning him around so his back rested against the door and then they were kissing. It was messy, Brock’s first real kiss that wasn’t a peck on the lips after a school dance but Brock loved every second of it. He wanted it to last forever because he was afraid of what Jack was going to say when it was over. Brock was terrified it would the same tune and he didn’t think his heart could handle another break like that. Jack pulled back against their foreheads pressed together. </p>
<p>“If you want this, you need to understand how much work it will be. That I won’t be interested in partying or any of the things kids your age like to do. And until you’re eighteen, you can’t say anything about us.” </p>
<p>“I know that.” Brock said earnestly. “I promise I won’t tell anyone until then. I just… Are you staying with me?”</p>
<p>“Until you don’t want me anymore,” Jack said. “I’ll be yours until you decide differently.”</p>
<p>Brock hugged him tightly and Jack held him back. The tenderness of the embrace almost made up for the heartbreak but it was worth it considering what he had gotten in return. </p>
<p>** ** ** **</p>
<p>Brock and Jack stayed in contact through the school year and almost every vacation was spent at Jack’s stable where he could visit Chopin and Jack, and to train for jockeying. It was a vacation of riding -- Chopin and Jack. Brock participated in a few halter shows and won by a landslide in all of them.</p>
<p>Senior year came around and his birthday sat on the horizon. Jack came to his graduation and hugged him in a teacherly way while his nonna fussed over how handsome he looked in his robes and insisted Brock take a photo with Jack much to his delight. After an extravagant graduation party at his nonna’s estate (his father was stuck in the city but Brock didn’t mind, Jack was there). They slipped away to the carriage house for a secretive blowjob and when Brock was rising from his knees Jack had a little black box flipped open. It was a thin band of platinum resting in a velvet cushion. </p>
<p>“Jack…” </p>
<p>“It’s a promise ring,” Jack clarified quickly. “But I do intend to make you mine.” </p>
<p>A ball of emotion lodged itself in his throat and Brock blinked away his tears of appreciation. “Thank you Jack.”</p>
<p>Jack slid the ring onto the ring finger of his left hand. “Sorry it’s so small, I didn’t want to draw attention...yet.” </p>
<p>Brock just hugged him. “It’s perfect. Thank you Jack.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome. I love you Brock.” </p>
<p>“I love you too Jack. More than anything.” </p>
<p>“More than Chopin?” </p>
<p>“Well, I love you almost as much as I love Chopin.” </p>
<p>Jack laughed. “That’s still a whole lot of love.” </p>
<p>He pulled back to kiss him once before they went back to the party. It was bittersweet in a way, the end of Brock’s childhood, but it was also the start of something new and exciting. It was the beginning of forever with Jack. And nothing could ever trump that.</p>
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